


Knock

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cousin Incest, Established Relationship, F/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 03:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11751444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Celegorm’s insufferable. (But pretty.)





	Knock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [breakaway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakaway/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for gotham-haze’s “Aredhel/Celegorm for #13 [doorbell]” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/163120603835/prompt-list-4).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The lasagna will be well worth it—it’s Celegorm’s favourite food, and she’s a sucker for anything with melted cheese. But it is a tricky dish to make, not for the careful layers or varied ingredients, but because it’s best with onion. And Aredhel _hates_ chopping onions.

She does it anyway, of course, because no grandchild of Finwë ever backs down from a fight. But it makes her eyes sting, makes them water, and she keeps sniffling over it. At the round table in the center of the kitchen, bent over her tax forms, Celegorm coos, “Aw, baby. Is your love for me getting to you again?” 

She wipes the back of her hand across her eyes and shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder. He just smiles pityingly at her. She mutters, “A _real_ gentleman would offer to do this for me.”

“I need my hands clean for this,” he counters. Indeed, the entire table’s covered in thin papers and a large calculator—she _does_ appreciate him braving that headache for her. It’s what’s earning him the dinner, and maybe dessert—although what she has in mind is just as much a treat for her as him. “If you make their offices reek of onion, they’ll never give you a refund.”

Aredhel rolls her eyes and returns to work. He chuckles fondly and does the same.

She’s halfway through her chopping when the doorbell rings, and Aredhel instinctively says, “Can you get that?” Even though it’s his apartment. 

He says surprisingly quickly, “Nope.”

Pausing as much to rest her eyes as to look at him, Aredhel peers back. He buries his face in his coffee cup, deliberately turned away from her. Even through the water that clings to her vision, it’s hard not to enjoy the slender column of skin the turn reveals—his collar’s open, his long hair brushed over the other side. He’s too much of a distraction, so she can’t afford to linger.

The doorbell rings again, loud and clear through the kitchen, the hallway visible just over her shoulder. She insists, “Seriously, you have to answer it—my hands are a mess.”

“So’s your gorgeous face,” he counters, “which is all the more reason to make sure no one sees you here.” She makes a scoffing noise, because it should be obvious to anyone that knows her that she isn’t crying because of _him_. She has half a mind to fling a chunk of onion at him for his excuses, but that would slow her progress, so she continues dicing it as finely as she can and quickly brushing it off her knife. 

A third ring, and she presses, “Celegorm...”

“I’m not answering it. What if it’s your father?”

Then they can explain this easily: two cousins enjoying an evening together, doing mutual favours. There’s no reason he has to learn that she plans to stay the night afterwards, and not in the guest bedroom. She volleys, “What if it’s _your_ father?”

“That’s even worse,” he groans. 

The next ring almost makes her wince—the person on the other side clearly isn’t giving up, which makes her think it _is_ family—only they could be so stubborn. Before she can say anything, she hears Celegorm’s chair scrape back, a few footsteps, and then she feels his strong arms wrap around her middle. He flattens into her from behind, leaning over her round shoulder to press a sweet kiss against his cheek. He licks away her tears with a sensual tenderness that makes her shiver. She stops her work, even though she’s finished and could swipe it away into the bowl to spare herself. Instead, she clings to the counter as he tightens his grip and nuzzles into her, his strong jaw and jutting nose pressed into her skin. She can feel the tickle of his golden hair, the lines of his taut muscles against her back. Of all the sons of Fëanor, all of those she loves, _Celegorm_ is the most intoxicating. They’re all beautiful. But he’s fair beyond her dreams, and he knows just how to use it, just how to press into her and make her wish for nothing more than his touch—she wants to turn into his arms and cover him in kisses, fall to the floor right here and fill herself up with him—

A shrill beeping sounds from Celegorm’s pocket. He pulls his cell out of his pants without once letting go of her. She can tell he’s smirking as he answers, “Hello?”

 _“Answer the damn door!”_ his father yells, loud enough for her to hear. It stops both of them in their tracks. 

As Celegorm pockets the phone again, he mutters, “Better hide in the closet.”

She chirps, “On it,” and races for the bedroom, heedless of her mucky hands.


End file.
